A Table Fetish
by Dala1
Summary: Logan and Rogue spend time alone and ponder philosophical questions like: does Logan's badass routine really work , could there be the pitter-patter of little feet around the mansion someday, and how many interesting places can one fornicate in before the


Disclaimer: characters belonging to Marvel ---- me not making any money ---- me not being sued.  
Author's Note: I was in a fluffy mood when I wrote this, and it shows :)  
  
  
Rogue turned her stereo off and pouted at her reflection in the mirror. She should have gone camping with the others, even if she was still sniffling a little. The mansion was empty and she was bored.  
  
Well, not entirely empty. Logan was here, probably downstairs smoking his head off while the professor wasn't there to reprimand him about his bad example. She flounced off the bed in sudden excitement, running a brush through her hair and grabbing her longest pair of gloves.  
  
Sure enough, he was playing pool with a cigar sticking out of his mouth. She liked the smell of them, but while he was smoking he couldn't occupy his mouth in any other ways. And the mansion was rarely this empty.  
  
"Hey," she murmured, perching on the back of the couch and crossing her legs. He looked up and grunted, then returned to his game.  
  
Rogue sighed. She'd forgotten about yesterday; with a bad head cold, she'd yelled some nasty things at him and he'd stomped out of her room. Apparently he had not forgotten.  
  
Tuning onto a higher seductress frequency, she minced over to him and whispered breathily into his ear, "You're not still mad at me, are you sugah?"  
  
Again the grunt, and he moved away from her, a peeved but conflicted look on his face. Her blouse was rather tight. "You'll mess up my shot."   
  
She shrugged and shoved the eight ball into a pocket.  
  
"Hey!" Logan protested. "If you're trying to make nice, that's not the best way to do it!" He fished the ball out, and she frowned and scooted herself onto the table itself, directly in the path of the cue ball.  
  
Logan glared at her and hefted his stick warningly. She merely smiled and leaned back, picking up the six and the three and twirling them in her hands. "I'm bored."  
  
He swallowed and tried not to look at the pool balls in her delicate fingers, but then his eyes rested on her lips, and then down to a liberal splash of cleavage, and he looked away from her entirely. "So?"   
  
"C'mon and entertain me." She hooked a finger into his belt loop and pulled him forward, positioning him squarely between her legs. He closed his eyes as skillful gloved hands traveled up his biceps to rest on his shoulders.  
  
"I have every right to be pissed at you still." His words were a sulky growl, close to defeat, and anyway she had been sick, he told himself, she hadn't really known what she was saying.  
  
"Of course you do," she replied, and he felt the cool brush of silk on his neck, then the pressure of her mouth through the scarf. "But I'm sorry, Logan, really. Please forgive me?" This was accompanied by a buck of her hips, and his hands moved from the table edge to her waist. He fought a groan and pushed her back onto the table, the pool balls scattering wildly out of the way.  
  
"You owe me, darlin'," he murmured, pleased at the heated expression on her face. "And I'm going to collect now." He started to lift her, take her upstairs, but she pulled him back down with a smile.  
  
"Right now and right here, please." He slipped a hand under her shirt, feeling the thin nylon bodysuit that had come in handy on so many occasions, with its strategically-placed holes.  
  
"Vixen," he muttered, pulling a condom out of his jacket before flinging it to the side.  
  
She laughed and kissed him through the scarf, pausing only for enough breath to say, "You know the pool table turns me on, baby."  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
To his delight, the Danger Room and the shower all had the same effect as the pool table. They had stepped outside for a breath of fresh air several hours later, after Logan alternately begged, cajoled and threatened her to put on a heavier jacket. His sex life couldn't deal with any more days of a sick Rogue.  
  
Wandering through the garden, they admired Storm's newest breeds of flower. He picked her a few daisies, a move which he regretted because she insisted on weaving them into a crown and placing it on his head. If anyone else had been around he would never have allowed it, but he swallowed his pride and kept the damned thing on because she smiled so softly when she tucked it behind his ears.  
  
They were just about to give the sun-warmed garden bench the same kind of christening the pool table, the Danger Rooms and Logan's shower had just received when his sensitive hearing picked up a whimper.  
  
Rogue lifted her head when he froze above her, the flower garland dangling absurdly from one ear. "What is it?"  
  
He got up and sniffed, then went over to the little stone fountain. Rogue followed him.  
  
A girl of about twelve sat beneath it, her face in her hands. Her shoulders lifted in a quiet sob, and Rogue felt a definite maternal instinct stir within her.  
  
"Hello," she said softly, kneeling beside the girl. "Are you okay?"  
  
Frightened, the blond head jerked up. The girl trained wide blue eyes on Rogue, then Logan, and backed away hastily. "I . . . I'm sorry, I shouldn't be out here."  
  
"It's alright," Rogue said, stretching out a hand and smiling.  
  
Logan was not so easily won over. "Why aren't you on the field trip, kid?" Rogue glared at him. He didn't realize how gruff and unkind his voice could be to those unfamiliar with him, and the girl shifted away from him.  
  
"What's your name, honey?"   
  
"Annie." The girl knuckled her eyes and sniffed once.  
  
"Didn't you want to go camping?"  
  
Annie shook her head fiercely. "No ma'am."  
  
Logan was amused at the thought of his little Marie being called ma'am. She wasn't so much older than this kid, after all. And the things she'd been whispering in his ear before they were interrupted were not the kinds of things a "ma'am" would say.  
  
"You can call me Rogue," she said, and indicating him, "this is Logan."  
  
The girl's eyes were wide. "I know who you are. The whole school knows who Rogue and Wolverine are." She blushed and looked down. "Sorry."  
  
"Quit apologizin'," Logan advised, trying to make his tone gentler. "We're not going to bite you." *I only bite Marie,* was his unspoken thought, and as he saw her cheeks color he knew she thought it too.  
  
She stood, brushing soil off her legs, and offered the girl a hand. "Come on, it's a very nice day. Won't you come for a walk with us?" It worked, of course; Logan felt himself charmed by her sweet, friendly smile and it wasn't even directed at him.  
  
Annie bit her lip and stood up on legs that were obviously cramped. Rogue took the shy girl's arm and led her along the path, toward the house. "We were just about to have some lunch. Would you like to join us?"  
  
"Okay," she said, a bit more at ease with this amicable young woman. She shot a slightly fearful look at Logan as he fell into step behind them, though, and he sighed.* Am I really that scary? Should I be ashamed, or proud?*  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
The girl took a seat at the kitchen table, where the students usually weren't allowed to eat. Logan lounged against the counter and Rogue hauled herself up to sit on it.  
  
"Why the hell can't you ever sit in a chair?" he asked.   
  
"Why the hell can't you do something besides stand and glower?" she retorted. Annie blinked, unused to such good-natured ribbing, and shifted her feet under the table.  
  
"So, why aren't you with the other kids?" Rogue swung her legs against the counter and motioned for Logan to haul his ass to the fridge. He sighed. Apparently 'we were just about to have lunch' translated to 'Logan will slave for us womenfolk' in Marie-speak. He pulled whatever would fit in a sandwich out and began fixing one for himself.  
  
"They don't really like me," Annie whispered, looking at the floor.  
  
Rogue frowned. The children here, having been discriminated against themselves, were generally not a cliquey bunch.   
  
"Who?" Logan growled, not looking up from where he was slicing bread.   
  
She named a few girls and one boy, inclined to obey this taciturn man, and he nodded. "I know a coupla those girl. They're real bitches."  
  
"Watch your mouth," Rogue said absently.  
  
"Got you to watch it for me, darlin'," he replied, pausing in his sandwich assemblage long enough to flash her a grin. He did have awfully perfect teeth, Rogue admitted. "Rye or white?"  
  
"One of each," she said.  
  
"How 'bout you, kid?" He turned his full gaze on Annie for the first time, and to her surprise she relaxed. His eyes were kinder than his demeanor.   
  
"White, please."  
  
"Why don't they like you?" Rogue inquired.  
  
"It's my mutation," Annie explained. "Sometimes I see stuff that's going to happen--mostly bad stuff. I said one day that Caitlin was going to fall off her horse and break her arm, and she did, and they thought I made it happen. But Professor Xavier says I didn't," she added quickly, her voice taking on that tone of awe which so many new students used in regards to Charles Xavier.  
  
Logan snorted. "Course you didn't. They're just looking for someone to be mean to." He and Rogue sat down across from Annie, and he doled out their sandwiches and soda. "How'd you get out of going?"  
  
She flushed. "I . . . paid a boy who shapeshifts to pretend to be me during role calls."  
  
Logan nodded slowly in appreciation. "Good plan." Rogue elbowed him, and he hastily amended, "But it was wrong, and you shouldn't do it again." She gulped and nodded, eyes going wide at his attempt to be stern.  
  
Their talk turned to lighter fare, and soon Rogue and Annie were laughing together as though they'd been friends for ages. Logan leaned back, contentedly digesting his food and watching Rogue talk animatedly about a new movie she wanted to see. She and Annie made plans to see it tomorrow, and he supposed it would be his job to transport them there.  
  
Annie glanced at her watch. "It's getting late. I have some homework to do. Thanks for lunch, and it was nice meeting you!"   
  
Rogue smiled at her as she stood up. "See you tomorrow, Annie." The girl fluttered her fingers in a wave and left.  
  
Logan sighed. "Alone at last."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Rogue said, "You're not fooling me. You've got a paternal streak. I saw your face when she talked about those little brats bothering her."  
  
He shrugged. "I think I'll have a little talk with them when they get back, all the same." Reaching over, he drew her closer to him. "You're pretty good with kids yourself."  
  
She grinned and said, "Gotta get in practice sometime." Realizing what she'd said, that she'd brought up the dreaded subject of children with someone like Logan, she wanted to slap her hands over her mouth.  
  
But amazingly, he didn't stiffen or look at her in panic. He merely said curiously, his breath stirring her hair, "Thinking about having some of your own?"  
  
She shrugged. "I probably can't."  
  
He frowned at the bitter undertone of her voice and squeezed her gently. "You never know. Things could happen."  
  
Rogue sighed. "Maybe," she agreed. "But if not, there's certainly no shortage of mutant children who need care. It's just one of those maybe-someday-way-into-the-future things." He nodded, and there was a pause. Hesitantly she asked, "You're not doing the guy thing and getting all freaked out."  
  
Logan lifted her chin to look at him, the depth of emotion in his eyes surprising her. "I love you, Marie. I may not say it often, but I do, and I want you to be happy. If you're able to have kids someday, well, I'd be honored to make a contribution." Some of the intensity left his gaze, and he grinned. "I'm in this for the long haul, baby. Don't forget that."  
  
She snuggled against him, rubbing the tip of her nose against his flannel shirt. "I won't." He tightened his embrace, and she freed one arm to fish out the end of her scarf. Kissing her way down his sideburns, she whispered, "Like I said, let's get some practice time in first."  
  
He laughed and pulled her onto his lap, then deposited her on the tabletop in front of him. "You're making me develop a table fetish, Marie."  
  
  



End file.
